


Empty Box

by Ulan



Category: DAKAICHI (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: If he knew, Takato would probably say, "It's pathetic to cry while doing this, thinking of another man." All the same, Junta could not help it. He had known the man he loved, held him long enough for the taste and feel of him to linger even now when the room was cold and he was not there.





	Empty Box

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this show. I accidentally fell in love with it over the holidays and LOOK I JUST HAD TO PURGE JUNTA'S FEELINGS FROM MY SYSTEM OKAY

The front door clicked closed, and the house once again fell into darkness.

Junta slipped off his shoes at the foyer and let his bag slip from his shoulder and to the floor. Cold moonlight streamed in from the glass window of the living room. He leaned against the wall by the door, braced by a hand clenched in a fist.

Shooting ended late that day. But perhaps that was just as well, because even now, even though he tried to squeeze out all energy from his body so that he could do nothing but just fall in bed everyday, most days were still like this. The air in his apartment was suffocating in its lightness, a quality that came only with big spaces and empty rooms, driving home the fact:

_He is not here._

How long has it been since he last came home with Takato in tow? These rooms felt so quiet without the older actor's complaints, his constant stream of "idiot" and "pervert angel" and all other things he said before falling with Junta to bed.

Now, it felt like Junta had to drag his feet just to reach the bedroom. Whereas in the past, he could not wait to reach it—teeth biting between kisses to his lover's lips, his arms wrapped around a slim waist—the bed to him now was just a cruel reminder of things he told himself not to think about in the meantime.

_Let's break up, Junta._

He did not mean it. He could not have, because the Saijou Takato that Junta knew was not so cold that he would drop a person just because of a potential scandal. He was even the one already caught up in one while Junta remained safe, forbidden to confess that he was the man in that blasted photo. That was how Junta knew that whatever it was, whatever Takato had been up to when he said those words, he was not doing it for himself.

Scandals were one of the worst things that could happen to an actor. Junta was new enough in the scene to be ruined by one as big as a romantic entanglement with a fellow male actor. He knew this; his manager, their president, even Director Usaka knew this, and surely, an acting veteran such as Saijou Takato knew it as well.

And so Junta knew it, told himself everyday: this was temporary. The words that rang in his ears, in Takato's voice, was but a nightmare that could be fixed. It had to be.

God, but the bed smelled like him. The pillow, the sheets—they were saturated with Takato's cologne and the sweet, heady scent of his sweat and skin. Junta's nostrils flared at that familiar smell, and immediately his blood ran hot and pooled in his gut like some trained dog at the hint of a treat. Arousal hit him strong, as it always did whenever Takato was involved, and he could not help the groan that he buried on the pillows.

His hand dragged down the material of his jeans, easily finding the aching bulge there. His fingers fumbled at the button, the zipper opening in a torturous slide along his straining cock. Just thinking about him always got Junta this way. Memories of flushed skin, stifled moans, fingers burying in Junta's hair hit him like a tidal wave so that he cried out to the empty air as his hand wrapped around his stiffened cock.

_Takato-san. Takato-san..._

Over and over like a spoiled child, his mind called out the name as though by sheer force of will, his lover would materialize before him, on top of him, the two of them a welcome weight again on Junta's bed. In his mind's eyes, Takato's face looked so clear, looking up at Junta with that look of pleasure in his eyes, of lust, of love, because of course, _of course_ he did.

He ran his fist up and down, up and down. He squeezed at his cock, because Takato's body was always so tight. Junta fumbled for the lube they kept in his bedside drawer, took some before bringing his hand back around his cock and it felt _so good_ , so good to think about him while doing this.

Gods, to have had him here. To have him in this room, on top of these sheets. Junta knew he scared him the first time, when Takato got so drunk Junta had to take him home. He truly had not intended to do anything at all, content to have the video with Takato's permission for Junta to call him by his first name. Oh, but he had wanted Saijou Takato for so, so long, worked himself to the bone just to stand side by side with the man, that the very suggestion of a chance to claim him had been too much. Junta watched all his dramas and had all his commercials saved in his phone. Even when they were together he had them, so hungry was he for everything about him. Sometimes, even when he had Takato in his arms, it felt like it wasn't enough.

And now, not even that--

He gritted his teeth, fists tightening around his cock now hard and leaking from thoughts of him. Smooth, supple skin, slender muscle, mouth so hot and delectable Junta could just feed from it all day. He craved for those sweet, shy kisses, the way Takato opened his mouth to Junta's ever hungry one. Takato was so good to him, so kind to him, so even now Junta could not believe he was gone.

He had him. He had him, he had him, after more than a year of waiting and working so that he was at the level for the man he admired to notice him, to think him worthy. It was no easy feat to be on the same level as the #1 man Japan wanted to be embraced by, five years running, but Junta had him, on top of him, under him, on this bed and by the gods he would have him here again.

"Takato-san..."

Oh, if he knew, Takato would probably say, "It's pathetic to cry while masturbating to another man." All the same, Junta could not help it. He had known the man he loved, held him long enough for the taste and feel of him to linger even now when the room was cold and he was not there. The hand around his cock moved faster, the slick, filthy sounds of it mixing with heavy breaths in this otherwise silent room.

Junta grabbed at the tissue box just in time, kept there since... gods, how many days had it been? He rode out his orgasm and let it sweep over him, his mind blank for a few blessed seconds.

Yet even now, like this, although his body was sated for a time, something else, something greedier and weaker, clawed at his chest as though it would rip it open in its rage.

_Chunta..._

The lines on the ceiling were blurry when he opened his eyes. Junta stayed like that, let himself succumb to the lethargy that was the only thing that put him to sleep those days. Some days he could not even sleep, but tonight he really ought to try. Tomorrow, after all, would be the last day of shooting, and there was much to be done.

He closed his eyes.

"I am taking you back... Takato-san."

**Author's Note:**

> I am pretty sure this happened and was just never shown to us, and no one can tell me otherwise. (I mean, Takato did it. Of course Junta did it, too.)


End file.
